


Taking Lumps

by Star_Tsar



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Beating, Bullying, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mistaken Identity, More Hurt Than Comfort, Protective Parents, School, autistic Huey, delinquency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Tsar/pseuds/Star_Tsar
Summary: “Aw, what’s wrong?” Gos rubbed his face in the grass and dirt, knocking his red cap off. “I bet you weren’t the one begging for mercy when you beat up Honker today, were you?!”





	1. Walking Home

“So, uh, Huey? Did you beat Honker in that ‘mathalon’ your class put on today?” asked Louie, smirking and elbowing Dewey as though it were some kind of inside joke.

“Honk-... Oh, Herbert Muddlefoot? He was absent today, and that’s an automatic disqualification,” Huey explained, looking over his shoulder.

Since their bikes were taken away after the last anti-social stunt they pulled, the boys had more time to talk on the walk home from school. Huey was used to Dewey and Louie sharing little shoves and snickers as they wound down; his younger brothers had all the same classes, while Huey himself was in an accelerated program, so of course they’d develop little jokes he wouldn’t understand. He thought nothing of it.

“Really?” Louie exaggerated his surprise, smiling. “After the big deal he made about wanting to beat you, he didn’t show up?”

“I wonder what convinced him to go home,” Dewey thought aloud, struggling to not laugh, and Louie shoved him playfully.

This did seem more than suspicious, but Huey tried to assume the best in people, even his brothers.

“Uh, okay? Hey, thanks for finding my hat, Louie, again,” was how Huey tried to change the subject. “Are you sure no one was wearing it? Because it was strapped one hole tighter than I normally wear it, and-”

“I promise, Hubert,” feigned Louie, in a tone he must have thought reassuring. “Do you want to know something I really admire about you, big brother? How you always handle your own problems.”

Dewey started giggling, and even Huey had to acknowledge something was amiss. Just as he turned around to question them, Dewey and Louie looked somewhere between horrified and awestruck at whatever was behind Huey.

“What?” Huey turned back to see Gosalyn Waddlemeyer -- or Mallard or whatever it was now -- had just turned the sidewalk corner.

He waved, but she didn’t wave back. It figured, though. Gosalyn was always in trouble at school. The intercom must have called her to the office once a week.

“What is so-” Huey turned to see his brothers vanished, only the shaking leaves of hedgerows to betray their escape.

Huey looked back to Gosalyn just in time to see her grab his arm and wrench it into a hold.

“Ow! Gos! Agh! Why are y-” Huey stammered in pain as Gosalyn wrestled him onto the grassy patch by the cracked sidewalk.

“So you think it’s funny to pick on little kids?!” Gosalyn pressed Huey’s twisted arm into his back.

“Ow! Ow! Please stop!” Huey pounded his free hand onto the ground, trying to tap out.

Gosalyn ratcheted Huey’s arm once more, harder than before, but relented after hearing him squeal for mercy (or something that sounded like ‘mercy’). It wasn’t much of a break, though, as she quickly pressed a knee into his back and shoved his face into the grass underfoot.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” Gos rubbed his face in the grass and dirt, knocking his red cap off. “I bet you weren’t the one begging for mercy when you beat up Honker today, were you?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Huey attempted to reason, trying and failing to wriggle out of the pin.

“You f-...!” Gosalyn clutched a fistful of grass and dirt and forced it into Huey’s mouth, then ran her knuckles across his ribs when he spat it out in disgust.

“Gosalyn, please stop!” Huey pled abjectly, going limp after his last attempt to free himself failed. “Please!”

“Did you stop when Honker asked you?!” Gosalyn asked in turn, and Huey hoped he detected a hint of remorse or pity in her voice. These hopes were dashed when Gos grabbed his unbent arm with both hands and twisted the skin in either direction -- an ‘indian burn’.

Huey cried out again, not even bothering to form words. He thought he felt the skin break after the fifth ‘burn’ but hoped it was just his imagination. After that, he felt Gosalyn get off of him.

Huey rolled onto his side, pain erupting in every direction. “Gosalyn, please, you have to believe me… I didn’t do anything to Herb-”

“Shut up!” Gos yelled, and delivered a swift kick to his gut, knocking the breath out of him. The kick flipped Huey onto his back, and she quickly took the opportunity to sit on his stomach and sock him a few times. Huey could only groan pitifully and gasp for air.

“P-p-ple…” Huey mumbled in pained little breaths, half-heartedly bringing his arms up to defend his head.

“Are you stupid?!” Gos delivered one last punch, heavier than the others, to his face. She must have felt guilty, or at least took a break to admire her work after that, because Huey felt her get off of his stomach.

Gos left Huey alone long enough for his breath to come back, but he heard her rifling through his backpack. He opened his eyes (he could feel one swelling up already) to see her wearing his hat and taking the ‘mathalon’ first-place ribbon from his pack.

Huey started to stand up, but realized this might only draw more of Gosalyn’s aggression, and decided to just stay down. It hurt less like that, anyway.

“Thanks for the ribbon, Duck. I’ll be sure to tell Honker how sorry you are when I give it to him,” Gos mocked, stepping to loom over Huey one last time. “Oh, and for the hat, too. I’ll remember you whenever I put it on.”

Huey thought to say something, to make the case for his innocence one last time, but figured it would be less painful to just shut up.

“But I’m being selfish! Here, let me give you something to remember me by,” Gos stuck a finger in her mouth and pulled it out dripping with spit, then bent down and stuck it in Huey’s ear. He grimaced and whined, but knew better than to try and fight back.

“See you at school tomorrow, ‘Huey’,” Gosalyn smirked, then walked off. Huey waited until he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore, then sat up.

“G-... Agh!” he screamed, at nothing in particular. Everything hurt.

Then he just sat there awhile, quiet, soaking in the pain and pathos. He felt a twinge, tears asking to be cried, but he was too angry for that.

“Woah,” Louie’s voice came from behind. He and Dewey were creeping back. “Huey… I think she likes you.”

“Shut up!” replied Huey. “You dressed up as me and beat up Herbert, didn’t you?!”

Louie came clean, saying, “He was going to beat you in that math thing, Huey, I had to-”

“As if! Honker is a moron compared to me!” Huey felt the circumstances allowed for some truth-telling.

“Yeah, but,” Dewey chimed in, “he’s a jerk, anyway.”

“He’s a milquetoast. That’s why he needs Gosalyn to fight people for him,” Huey answered.

“Oh, so you’re jealous? You wish Gosalyn would fight people for you, huh?” Louie grabbed Huey’s bookbag for him.

“Just shut up!” Huey stood, with some help from Dewey.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get your hat back,” Dewey tried to console, seeing how injured Huey had been.

“But, Dewey,” Louie interjected. “Girls like wearing their boyfriend’s clothes.”

“Shut up, Llewellyn,” Huey asked again.

“Then we’ll kick Honker’s butt for snitching to Gos,” said Dewey, getting ahead of himself.

“Whatever, just take me home,” said Huey.


	2. Not Here

Huey laid on his bunk, aching and alone. They had gotten through the foyer and halls without Mom or Uncle Donald or anyone seeing him and the bruises and abrasions and red-pink streaks of blood dappling his arms and face. It was a small victory, and ultimately pointless, but it was something.

Louie and Dewey might have had their fears assuaged, for awhile, but Huey couldn’t find any solace. He would have rather gotten it over with. Everyone would have found out eventually, anyway, but his brothers still clung to a sliver of hope that Huey’s beating would go unnoticed, so he put up with a few extra hours of anxiety. A few extra hours of laying frozen, impotent and teary-eyed with only the discordant throbbing of physical pain to distract from the gut-wrenching nervousness.

Wouldn’t it have been better once Mom found out? No. Because whatever maternal instinct would drive her to empathize with Huey would be sublimated into anger at his attacker, and this modified by her need to overcompensate for ten years of absence would ultimately make it no different than talking to Uncles Donald or Scrooge about it. They would want to know who hurt their boy, but he wouldn’t tell them, so their anger would get displaced toward him, or his brothers, or each other.

So what? Why not just tell them who did it? Because telling them the ‘who’ would lead inextricably into the ‘why’. Herein lay the impasse. Gosalyn kicked Huey’s feathery ass because Louie and Dewey bullied Honker, her best friend. And why did they do this? It made no difference at this point, but Huey doubted there was any real reason. Louie and Dewey would conjure up this or that excuse, but it was just a lark -- one of the random acts of violence which punctuate the travails of boyhood. Honker was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

(There was the question of why Louie disguised himself as Huey, but that was to be answered at a later date. For the time being, the boys were all in it together.)

Not that anyone would ever find out. Dewey and Louie weren’t getting punished -- not if Huey had anything to say (or not say, in this case) about it. No one else needed to suffer, least of all his brothers. It was their fault he got beaten, it was more than arguable, but that was between the three of them and no one else. This was what it meant to be brothers. This was fraternity. No snitching.

Huey wasn’t any better, anyway; he would have done the same if he were with them. It’s easy to say it’s wrong to wallop a wimpy little kid who never did anything to you, but when you’re there? In person? The boredom and resentment of an underclass upbringing stained a delinquency on the boys that no amount of rich uncles or mothers from the moon could wash away. Or it might have been genetic. 

Huey was a good person, but he liked doing bad things, and he came to terms with that long ago. At least he was smart enough to resist those urges, once in awhile -- Dewey and Louie never stood a chance. 

Maybe Huey did deserve to get beaten up by Gosalyn. Even if he didn’t do anything, himself, the triplets were all cut from the same cloth, and he’d rather take the beating than let his brothers get hurt.

He hadn’t cried yet. Huey knew he had to, and he wanted to, but he just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t the pain, but the humiliation that-

“Huey!” in Uncle Donald’s garbled voice. He knew.

“Yeah?” the pretense of insecurity, of being unsure. It wouldn’t work, of course; Uncle Donald knew better, but Huey had to try.

“Come down here!” he ordered.

Questions. Lies. Yelling. More yelling. Dysfunction. Silence.

This was Huey’s family, and this was how they dealt with problems. They cared, and they meant well, but they were damaged. 

Getting marched from this room to that, down this hallway and another. Mom got involved at some point, and she yowled and hugged and squeezed but it only made him feel worse. 

It had been going on for an hour and a half now, or maybe it just felt like it. After awhile, Huey just checked out, stopped talking, stopped doing anything except listening, and that was only because he couldn’t help it. Louie was talking enough for the three of them anyway.

And then, finally, Uncle Scrooge’s Office.

“I don’t understand what’s so hard about this,” Scrooge reiterated, the brothers on one side and the adults behind the desk. It was getting dark outside.

“Huey got in a fight, it’s not a big deal. Nothing hard about it,” Louie was getting defensive, not a good sign.

Uncle Donald, with folded arms, “Louie, stop talking ba-”

“I know, Louie! I can see him!” spat Scrooge, irritated. He brought a trembling hand to his forehead, scowling, then hesitated before slamming it down on the mahogany.

“Uncle Scrooge!” scolded Mom. Huey thought she would have taken it hardest, seeing him injured, but Scrooge seemed the most upset of anyone.

“These boys-...!” Uncle Scrooge looked at Mom and put the lid on that thought. “Just, the other ones, I-... I just want to talk to Huey!” He was waving his hand, gesturing for Louie and Dewey to leave. They complied, a little rattled.

The door slid shut, a metal tongue clicking into its cavity, and then silence.

Huey wasn’t sure what was happening after that. He refused to even look. Head down, knees together, ankles crossed. Huey made himself small.

“Huey, you’re a good boy. Please, just tell us what happened,” cooed Scrooge.

No answer. Not even a shake of the head.

“Huey…” a warning.

No answer. That was his last chance. Oh, he could feel it.

Uncle Donald sighs.

“Huey, honey,” Mom breaks the tension, or bends it more like, with her own appeal. She slithers over and wraps her arms around, almost cradling him. “It’s not your fault, okay? We just-”

“Stop it, Della,” interrupts Scrooge. “He doesn’t care. He obviously thinks this is a joke, they all do,”

“Don’t talk about him like he isn’t here,” Mom’s hug tightened.

“Come on, Della! He always does this,” croaked Donald, implying Mom wouldn’t know what her sons ‘always did’.

“Maybe he has to, maybe Huey never had anyone he could talk to,” responded Della, masking injury with insult. “Maybe he doesn’t need you two screaming at him!”

Huey shut his eyes, tight.

“No one to talk to?! Y-you…! You’re right Della, and you know what he did need? A mother! But where was she?!” Oh no.

“Oh, f-...! Shut up! As if you can even imagine what hell I went through-” Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.

“What you went through?! When I was raising your sons for ten years?! When I was the one who-”

“Yes, nephew, and what a fine job you did!”

Screaming. Swearing. Loud, loud noise.

“Huey,” Mom whispered, beneath the frenzied barking, the exploding anger. “Just go to your room, sweetie. We’ll talk later tonight.”

Huey got the hell out of there.

The echoes in his mind were just as loud as the real thing, the fight in his head meshing torturously well with the fight still raging in Scrooge’s office, all the way up to his bedroom door.

It was all his fault.

“Did you tell?” asked Dewey, soon as the door opened.

“No,” Huey brushed him aside and started up the ladder to his bunk.

“Of course he didn’t, can’t you hear them fighting?” Louie said as though he weren’t panicking in the office just a few minutes ago. “They’re so easy.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dewey fell back on Louie’s bunk. “Do you think they’re going to call us in, too?”

“No, not after this. They’re too mad at eachother,” Louie’s speculation was affirmed by the distant sounds of strained screams and glassware being shattered. “All we have to do is lay low for tonight, and skip out on breakfast tomorrow. It’ll blow over after that.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dewey’s mind was set at ease. “Then we’ll get your hat back, Huey, and that ribbon thing, too.”

“Whatever,” a monotone reply from beneath a heap of sheets and blankets.

“We’ll go to Honker’s house if we have to… his dad’s real heavy, won’t be able to catch us,” Louie reassured. “Dewey, remember that time you stole their mail, and Honker’s dad chased you down the block and had an asthma attack?”

“Y-yeah!” Dewey giggled. “And he blacked out and the neighbors called an ambulance! And h-he couldn’t even… couldn’t even remember who did it?!”

Louie and Dewey laughed as the adults’ argument still echoed down the halls.


End file.
